Image courtesy of SueAnn friend of Brian Miller Hosting Poetics today
Now we’re aged sail ribs and tailbones,
our sucker rods dried, split with time.
Wind whistles us drained desert stones
spinning dizzy in retooled rhymes.
Yellow shadows once slipped through grass;
lying hidden, cicada waves
told tales of days when we’d surpass
cliff high flats and the deep sky’s blades.
Curved highways led to city streets.
Fast steps formed glass and metal tunes.
Rain skies erased the sun in sheets
then rusted heart-forged clever runes.
Unique melodies milled by wind,
Half-tones decay before our end.
(c) Gay Reiser Cannon * 11/3/2012 * All Rights Reserved
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Beautiful! This sings to me, Gay. I especially like:
Yellow shadows once slipped through grass;
lying hidden, cicada waves
told tales of days when we’d surpass
cliff high flats and the deep sky’s blades.
nice…love hte way your words just bend around my tongue gay….sky blades, bending highways….rain skies…rusted heart-forged clever runes….your wind certainly has unique melodies…smiles….
Your final couplet is fantastic, Gay…brings it all together beautifully while note stealing from the strength of your pen. The is a FLAWLESS read aloud!
There’s the sadness of decay, of a rusting present, but there’s also a sense of accomplishment, that there was glory once, and memories now to comfort as the past is overgrown. Loved this.
That’s exactly it. Thank you.
Gay, your words interpret the picture beautifully! I loved the way you rhymed so seamlessly and the last stanza which is the perfect finale!
wonderfully, said. this paints a bittersweet picture of the past (or in this case, makes the wone already there feel so much more alive ;))… loved the ending!
Yellow shadows once slipped through grass… ..It seems somehow sad in a way, fondly remembering the old days. Sometimes in some ways, they were also the best ways too. Lovely interpretation of the picture.
Lovely form Gay, the sonnet form intimidates me 🙂
The best for me was third stanza, of rusted heart, forged clever runes ~ Enjoy the weekend ~
1st stanza, best of all! talks about age of which I could imagine and appreciate 🙂
lovely all together!
Thank you the first two lines refer to the parts of this kind of windmill – it becomes the over-riding metaphor.
Oooooooo, a sonnet song. I loved it, I imagined a trek I made to eastern colorado once. You captured it perfectly for me, though I am sure you were writing about Texas. Excellente!
Well done….thank you so much
I enjoyed this every much.
Hugs
SueAnn
Bitchin’ sonnet that rattles along washboarded dusty farm roads in West Texas, where the old windmills stand staring at abandoned houses, their blades squawking a rusty lullaby as the remorseless wind taunts and whooshes; liked the line /wind whistles us dry desert stories/.
Thanks everyone. Wonder if the rhythm bothers anyone? It began as somewhat “off” – I started with an 8 syllable line with a stressed first syllable and thought I’d pretty much start every line stressed, but in the end I didn’t and the feet oscillate with iambs, trochees, and anapests; still the odd rhythms, somewhat out of kilter, seem to support the theme of the poem so I left them that way. I’d like to know if you think it would be better if the rhythm was “regular”?
Reminds me of my time in the bush, these windmills are a man made poem in their own right and you capture their essence beautifully. Really enjoyed this poem this morning.
You had me from the opening two lines – wonderful imagery Gay – I like the rhythm – I don’t think it should be regular
ahh…and how beautifully they sing. loved the feel and flow–particularly the last two lines of the first stanza withy their onslaught of double consonants.
Birthdays are always a time of intense reflection for me and I saw undertones of assessment in this which sings a beautiful but somewhat mournful tune. The orchestration is impeccable and it really transported me through time. Wonderful!
i loved the world milled by wind and the rain erasing the sun.
a windmill returning to nature =)
Wow the imagery in this is impeccable! And isn’t “regular” a bit dull? I enjoyed the imperfections of the rhyme! Especially aloud
Yo Anthony – Thanks for the note. I’m glad you liked it!
melodies milled by wind..sometimes I feel that way. Thank you Gay, this is beautiful.
I actually like the sound an old rusty windmill makes. There’s a bit of wisdom in it’s creaking.
The has such a nice lilt to it. I especially like that second stanza–lovely.
so lyrical!! love the second stanza.
this is the image that drew me too ~ yours is SUCH a better poem! LOVE this, Gay!
♥
The sounds reflect the creaking of the lonely sails in the dryness of the noon heat as hopes long gone or met crumble back into the earth.
As I read
Wind whistles us dry desert stones
spinning dizzy in retooled rhymes.
struck me as a quite exceptional couplet.
and the final two lines… superb.
Beautifully lyrical! It was even lovelier read aloud..
Fun mix of images – urban, country, hope, decay.
Hey, quick question: Do you know if my poem doubting Shadorma is valid?
wonderfully formed, Gay. Age, beauty, decay, transformation, majesty. A lovely sonnet song!
This is exquisite.
Curved highways led to city streets.
Fast steps formed glass and metal tunes.
Rain skies erased the sun in sheets
then rusted heart-forged clever runes.
Really pretty imagery all around!
Really neat response to this painting. In particular, something about the third stanza that strikes me, perhaps it’s the runes, which offers so much symbolic relevance. Great read. Thanks
Unique melodies milled by wind…love that gay…that would’ve been the pic i chose as well, had i not been in san francisco for the weekend…a very reflective write…great use of the windmill as a metaphor as well…so was it your birthday…?
Nope my bd is July 23, it’s Ron’s…Nov 5 – today!
Goodness, Gay, good stuff. “aged sail ribs and tailbones…sucker rods dried, split with time.” Wind, windmills and time. Highways leading to city streets. Fast steps, glass and metal. Unique melodies, indeed.
Loved reading this the other night….had to come back today..the ‘cicada waves’..and the ‘yellow shadows slipping though grass’ are only two instances of lovely writing that makes inanimate objects have human characteristics…sometimes I feel like I am ‘spitting with time’ 😉
oops I meant “splitting” …
Now we’re aged sail ribs and tailbones,
our sucker rods dried, split with time.
Wind whistles us drained desert stones
spinning dizzy in retooled rhymes.
This first stanza ties up nicely to what a windmill is like. It’s aged and weathered but still spinning. Great write Gay!
Hank